


Frills and Lace, and Tacky Clichés

by DinoDina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:18:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9490733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinoDina/pseuds/DinoDina
Summary: Percy is as good at dancing as he is at other things. And if you're Percy Weasley, "good" means "perfect". So, when Oliver invites him to go dancing on their first Valentine's Day together, Percy isn't at all worried. And as far as Oliver's concerned, Madam Puddifoot's is a perfect setting for their Date.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written on 02-14-16. Cross-posted on ffn.

Percy was as good at dancing as he was at other things. And, if you were Percy Weasley, _good_ meant _perfect_. So, Percy was as perfect at dancing as he was at other things. He could waltz with the best of them, knew all the unwritten rules of tango, and foxtrotted to rival the foxes themselves. Knowing how to dance would be a staple part of being a high-up Ministry official, he'd say, and had learned to listen to music. He always stayed, mentally, one beat ahead of it, and, in the physical sense, seamlessly blended into it.

So, when Oliver invited him to go dancing for their first Valentine's Day together, Percy wasn't all that worried. Sure, the date was at Madam Puddifoot's—and Oliver had to be mental to even consider going there—and would be swarmed with sickly, pink couples, but it was one of the only places in Hogsmeade that hadn't been yet touched by the Dementors. Even the Three Broomsticks, in spite of its joyful atmosphere, operated in fear of being examined.

Oliver wanted to do the date right, Percy knew, but it was hard to do the date right when the previous day had consisted of Quiddich practice and the planning of Hogwarts's annual Valentine's celebration. Dumbledore had seemed especially enthusiastic about this this particular year, but maybe it was Percy's own excitement about the date.

"I'll pick you up at the door," Oliver had said. "I'll give you flowers, and take you by the arm, and offer you my jacket. I'll present you with the finest chocolates money can buy, and I'll—"

It was then that Percy'd had to remind him that they were roommates, and that Oliver was a broke Quiddich player. Also that he, Percy, was still male, thank you very much, and would be wearing his own jacket.

That had put a damper on Oliver's mood, but the prospect of going to Madam Puddifoot's, the most romantic place in Hogsmeade, had brought it up again. Percy, for his part, had never been inside there, if only because of the frilliness of the tablecloths and the teasing that it would invoke upon him from his brothers. But it was hard to say "no" to Oliver (most of the time, Percy didn't even try to), so Madam Puddifoot's it was.

* * *

"Good morning, Percy," Oliver greeted him the morning of the Date—and, yes, the word _was_ capitalized—with a chaste kiss on the lips and a rose in a small vase.

"Good morning, Oliver," Percy returned in the same cheery voice, putting on his glasses and placing the vase onto his bedside table.

"Sorry it's just one," Oliver shrugged, indicating the rose. "It's the only one Sprout would let me take."

"You're ridiculous," Percy's ears blushed with the accursed Weasley trait, and Oliver knew that he was pleased.

"And you're not nearly as cold as you pretend to be," he jumped up from where he was kneeling and ran to the shower. "Be ready in an hour!"

Percy rolled his eyes, and smelled the rose. It was sweet, as greenhouse roses are, and almost thornless. That would account for the few cuts on Oliver's hands, because even a rose with so few thorns could inflict such major damage upon him. Percy had no doubts that he would be kissing the cuts better later that day.

As Oliver was in their shower—since it was only the two of them in their year, they got only one—Percy had to go to the Prefect's Bathroom. He didn't know why Oliver hadn't gone there, too (as Quiddich Captain, he had the same bathroom privileges as Prefects), but maybe he _was_ planning on doing the Date right. Apparently doing the Date right entailed the loss of their showering together, which Percy didn't exactly appreciate.

He _did_ appreciate the box of chocolates on his bed when he returned to the dorm, as well as the sight of Oliver getting dressed. The chocolates weren't the finest money can buy, as had been promised—in fact, they were the most affordable ones at Honeyduke's—but they tasted good and were well within Oliver's budget.

His own budget was just as small as his boyfriend's, not for lack of trying, so he suspected that their Date at Madam Puddifoot's would be small, and would mostly consist of tasteful physical contact. And dancing, of course, as that was the Date's main event.

"May I escort you?" Oliver asked, natural Scottish accent struggling to get out against the put-on posh voice.

"Oh, you certainly may," Percy giggled, feigning a swoon and putting his hand into the crook of Oliver's arm.

"Come on," Oliver escorted him as far as the door, where they linked hands, and proceeded to race each other down the stairs—they might have been perfectly in love, but they were teenage boys.

They were among the first out of Hogwarts, getting past a half-asleep Filch with nary a grumble from him. They could feel the freedom in their hair—or hats, as the case was, but saying "hair" sounded more romantic—on the snowy walk to the town.

Oliver led the way to the corner of Hogsmeade in which Madam Puddifoot's sat, and opened the door. So, Percy grinned upon entry, this was their Date. The Tea Shop was steamy, so steamy, in fact, that it was hard to see from table to table. When Madam Puddifoot herself escorted them to their table, a small, round thing in an alcove next to a steamed-up window, Percy noticed that most of the patrons were lip-locked with their neighbor.

Madam Puddifoot left them at the table with a small giggle. Percy supposed that it wasn't often that she got male visitors as excited as Oliver. He found that his boyfriend's happiness was contagious, and found himself smiling along with him, even as he fingered the garish tablecloth (because, really, pink lace on red silk?).

The plump woman returned a few minutes later, navigating around the tables with difficulty but purpose. Oliver and he each ordered a hot chocolate, as well as a small slice of cherry pie to share. She looked at them with a bit of pity, possibly sensing their monetary limitations. The café wasn't cheap, and, despite its tackiness, served food that was worth every knut.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Oliver leaned across the table to whisper into Percy's ear, leaving them sitting cheek-to-cheek. He took hold of Percy's hand.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Percy echoed, and— _screw it all_ —gave Oliver a kiss on the lips. Perhaps that was why Oliver had asked for this particular table, he noticed that only two couples would be able to see them (if they wanted to).

Percy was a private person, courtesy of having six siblings with no sense of personal space, but dating Oliver gave him a chance to worry less about being laughed at by Fred and George and made him worry more about being reprimanded for indecent public exposure. Which, he thought as Oliver's foot made its way up his leg, was not a good thing.

"At least let me feed you," Oliver pouted when Percy gently kicked his leg off, and lifted one of the small forks, a piece of pie already on it.

"Just the one," Percy finally nodded, and let Oliver fly the fork into his mouth. The childish action was worth it, he knew, when the pie hit his tongue.

Oliver ended up feeding most of the pie to him, and Percy felt guilty for not noticing. He knew how much Oliver loved cherry pie. The realization colored his ears— _you couldn't fight genetics!_ —but Percy didn't look down, and spent the last of his tri-monthly allowance on a second slice, against Oliver's protests. The protests died down when the plate arrived, and a few minutes later, there wasn't even a sign on the pie even being there.

"You didn't have to, you know," Oliver whispered into Percy's ear. He knew how small Percy's allowance was, and betting on Quiddich against equally broke Hogwarts students only gave a man so much.

"Neither did you," Percy returned just as quietly, because even though no one cared enough to eavesdrop, the couple from table over would be able to with barely any difficulty.

Oliver conceded to that, and they sat for thirty minutes longer, that being the time limit for not ordering anything. Oliver assured him that the time limit was only in place on busy days such as Valentine's Day, and that the next time they came back, they would be able to stay longer. Percy neglected to mention the fact that they would need to save all of their money for the next few months in order to return so quickly. Money was not the best Date conversation.

"Did you finish your Transfiguration essay?" Oliver asked as they walked on High Street, heading in the direction of the Three Broomsticks, properly muffled against the snow, which had picked up while they had been in the café.

"Halfway there," Percy ground out through chattering teeth. Oliver always said that he was too thin to battle snow, even with a coat, and now, he was beginning to agree. "You?"

"Yeah," Oliver nodded, putting an arm around Percy's waist, as the boy was just those few inches taller to make leaning on his shoulders difficult. "Me, too."

"It's supposed to be short, though, which is a good thing," Percy smiled. "Only half the work over the holiday."

"Short," Oliver echoed with a small scoff. "And what does that mean for you, only twelve inches?"

"Eleven and a half," Percy replied indignantly, laughing at how well Oliver knew his faults (the professors didn't see them as faults).

"Beg pardon," Oliver joined the laughing, and was rewarded with a mouthful of falling snow for the effort.

"You're forgiven," if it was possible, Percy leaned even more into his touch, giving an Oliver-worthy pout when he had to detach in order to get into the Three Broomsticks.

"We can camp out here for the hour," Oliver offered when they had found a table. "The dancing starts then, so . . ."

Percy nodded, the large Warming Charm on the pub quickly working its magic (no pun intended). They were just two among a sea of people, the tables packed and loud. Percy saw a lot of Hogwarts students, as well as Hogsmeade residents, but he didn't think that anyone was paying any attention to him and Oliver. He was correct in that thought, of course, since the holiday spirit was alive in everyone, making them focus on their own romance instead of on their surroundings.

"What are you thinking about?" Oliver asked over the noise, causing Percy to turn his gaze back to him.

"You, obviously," and even though Percy said it casually, his words were true. The only person here who mattered to him was Oliver, and the rest of the world melted away.

"Cheeky," Oliver laughed.

Some time later, probably the hour that Oliver promised, they exited the pub, almost slipping on the ice outside. It was still snowing, but more slowly than before, the flakes large and picturesque. They were one of the few couples that were still making their way to the festivities next to Madam Puddifoot's, and thus, were latecomers to the party. It wasn't a literal party, Oliver explained to Percy on the way there, his arm still around his boyfriend's waist. It was just a small dance organized by the busy Madam Puddifoot in an attempt to expand her business.

Just like the Tea Shop, the area was illuminated by red and pink heart-shaped fairy lights. Literal ones, not the kind that Muggles powered with _electricity_ (and no, Percy wasn't a Muggle nut like his father, he just took Muggle Studies for the NEWT). There was an area set off for dancing, lit around the edges by white and gold cherub lights. Some couples were already dancing, while others stood at tall tables, which were adorned by frilly and lacy tablecloths. Percy was sure that there were too many flowers on them.

"Come on," Oliver tugged at his hand, leading him to a free table.

Definitely too many flowers, Percy decided, fighting back a sneeze, but allowed Oliver to indulge in the decorations. The dancefloor was full, which was why he supposed they were standing at one of the tables. They wouldn't have been late if Oliver had allowed him to keep track of the time, but, his neck still smarting from them, Percy remembered their activities in the Three Broomsticks with a smile.

"You sure picked an interesting place," Percy finally said, casting a discreet charm to keep his sneezes at bay.

"You don't like it," Oliver sighed, shoulders slumping, almost letting his head hit the table.

"That's not true," Percy picked up his chin and placed a small kiss to his lips. "I think it's perfect."

"Really?" Oliver lit up to rival the lights.

"Yes," so maybe Percy wasn't telling the whole truth, and Madam Puddifoot was a slightly over-the-top romanticist, but he nodded and kissed Oliver again. "Do you want to dance?"

They got to the floor just as a new song started, a slow ballad by Celestina Warbeck (covered by the Weird Sisters, which was strange, but didn't take away from the crooning sound of the music), started playing. Percy took the lead, one hand on the small of Oliver's back, the other holding his. It was easy to lead the Quiddich player, who, though less graceful than Percy, picked up on the minute shifts in the music and adapted his movements to his partner's and to the song's.

"You're good at this," he said softly, as the music drew to a close and Percy lightened his grip.

"Just the dances," Percy replied, knowing how Oliver could feel his sudden shyness, because this was a public gathering, _dammit_ , and it was a dance for _teenagers_. It wouldn't all _be_ actual dances, and, _Merlin_ , he would have no idea what to _do_.

"Why'd you stop?" it was then that Percy realized that another song had begun, and that most of the floor was filled by couples, all wildly jumping and twirling. "Percy?"

"No reason," he grinned, grabbing Oliver's hand and waist again. This wasn't that much different than making it to the kitchen when Fred and George had charmed the staircase to be just levitating pieces of wood (that story had ended with several broken bones, but after they'd been set, it had been some of the most fun weeks Percy'd ever had at home).

Oliver was breathing deeply by the time the dance was over, and Percy was just as gone as he was. But the music waited for no one, and to their immense thankfulness, a slow song started playing, leaving Oliver to press close to Percy and put their heads together.

"Thank you," Oliver breathed against his neck as they swayed.

"What for?" Percy wondered quietly. He knew that Oliver had used his backup soap that morning—had it really been morning just half a day ago?—and made up his mind to have Oliver use it more often.

"Today," Oliver replied simply, but Percy knew what he meant, and kissed him for what seemed to be the hundredth time that day. He knew that both he and Oliver would be receiving many more kisses when they got back to the castle, but there were many songs left.

Who knew, maybe Oliver would drag him back to Madam Puddifoot's in a few months, and who knew? Maybe he wouldn't mind it that much. He wasn't minding it now, at any rate.

Then the song ended, and Percy felt Oliver move his hands to take the lead. He knew how to be led during a waltz, and, by Oliver's confident grip, his boyfriend knew how to lead.

"Thank you," he whispered back, acting a lovesick fool, and Oliver smiled like the lovesick fool _he_ was when Percy echoed his previous words, "For today."


End file.
